Olivia’s Luck (2000) (17 page)

She turned to face me fully for the first time. “Well, if I was being kind I’d say she was a sweet little thing, but as you and I both know – since it appears that by some horrific coincidence she teaches at Claudia’s school – that’s generous. She’s
tres ordinaire
. What the devil’s he up to, Liwy? I expected Claudia Schiffer at the very least but, good heavens, that bosomy little nobody – and to leave you for her!”

I sighed. “I know. Defies belief, doesn’t it? And there was I thinking you might be able to shed some light on it, tell me he’d always had a penchant for plain, buxom women.”

“The only light I can shed is the little I gleaned when she left the restaurant – which she tactfully did when she’d had a drink.”

“And?”

“Well, it seems…” she hesitated, “it seems he’d been rather unhappy.”

I jumped. “Here? Did he say
I’d
made him unhappy?”

She shifted in her chair, looked uncomfortable. “Not in so many words, my darling, but – ”

“Yes?”

“Well, he said…said he was tired of you always trying to please him.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“Said it bothered him that you had no life of your own. That everything you did revolved around him, that he wished you’d do something for yourself.”

“He said
what?
”

“Apparently you were always running around after him, fixing up treats, weekends away, with his friends, not yours. Accommodating him.”

“But – but I thought he liked that! Jesus, he’d go into a steep decline if I didn’t do all that, and that made
my
life unbearable! I
had
to think of things to do! Christ, and I bust a gut doing it!”

She sighed. “I know. There’s just no pleasing some people. I’m not judging, Liwy, just reporting back.”

“Jesus!” I slumped back in my chair in disbelief, eyes wide, staring. “Hang on, let me get this straight. I made
him
unhappy by being too nice to him? Is that it?”

She leant forward. “Think about it, Liwy,” she urged. “What sort of people are we attracted to? Not ones who hover around us solicitously, but ones who impress us, ones who make things happen!”

“And what does
she
do that’s so bloody impressive!”

“Oh, apparently she does all sorts. Ran the marathon a couple of years ago – God knows how, with that bust – wants to swim the channel one day apparently, does a lot of deep-sea diving. Oh – and they go off on mountain bikes together. She bungee jumps too, if you’re interested.”

I stared at her incredulously. “Bike rides and bungee…Angie, are you telling me he gave up on our marriage because I wouldn’t fix a bit of elastic to my back and jump off the Tamar Bridge?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” she said patiently, “but what I am saying is that maybe, subconsciously, you’ve put your life on hold because of him. Because of that huge personality of his – and, believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I had it with Oliver too, and how. In that grand racing world I could quite easily have slipped under the quicksand of money and glamour and beautiful women, but I made a conscious decision early on that I wouldn’t just be Oliver McFarllen’s wife, that I’d go my own way. And I always did. He ran around me.”

I thought back. It was true. She’d always been elusive, never at his beck and call, and he was always anxious about
her
. Striding in from the stables – “Is Angie OK? Has she got enough help in the kitchen? Are you girls lending a hand? How about someone laying the table. I don’t want her tired, we’re going out tonight.” No, Johnny had never been like that. But then I’d never been like Angie. God, only a few months ago I’d turned down a job at the Chelsea Physic Garden, thinking it would clash with the building works, with family life.

“You’re too flipping considerate, Liwy, that’s your problem,” she went on. “You’re even being considerate about Her, too, which, incidentally, Johnny cites as being totally typical of you.”

“Oh,
does
he,” I seethed. I was dimly aware that Angie was deliberately trying to rouse me to anger, and that she was doing a damn good job of it.

“Yes, he said, ‘You see, Mum? She’s even making a friend of Nina. It’s unreal!’”

I jumped up. “Oh,
is
it bloody unreal, well, we’ll soon see about that!”

“I think he needs a bit of a shock, Liwy.”

“He’ll get one!” I hissed, pacing around my chair.

“I think he needs to see that you’re not just sitting about waiting for him to come back.”

“Too bloody
right
I’m not!” Lance approached down the garden with my drink.

“That you’re your own person – ”

“Of course I am!”

“Still a very attractive woman – ”

“You
bet
I’m attractive! God, I’m – I’m fucking gorgeous!”

“Still highly desirable – ”

“Yes!” I shrieked, banging the back of the chair with my fist, “yes, yes,
yes
!”

“And I think he needs to see – ”

“A man!” I interrupted, eyes wide. “That’s it: he needs to see a man!” I swung round wildly, looking for one, just as – “Lance!” I seized his arm. “Lance – you’d be perfect! Absolutely perfect! Just like David Gower!”

“Sorry?” he blinked.

“Lance,” I breathed, “listen. I – I need to borrow you, not for long but I – ”

“Er, thank you, Lance,” Angie said hastily, prising my fingers from his arm and taking the drink. “Mrs McFarllen’s just a little overwrought. It’s the heat. Thanks so much for the drink.”

Lance looked startled, but turned and went on his way.

“Perhaps you could be a little subtler than just grabbing the nearest builder that comes to hand!” she hissed.

But I was well away. “And a job,” I breathed. “I need a job. I’ll ring the Chelsea Physic, see if that’s still up for grabs, tell them I’ll take it on any sort of salary.” I paced up and down, gripping my gin. “Yes, it has to be in London. And clothes – I must buy clothes, expensive ones. Clothes, a job, a man – that’ll do the trick, that’ll show him!”

“Now slow down, darling, slow down,” said Angie anxiously. “Don’t forget you’re doing this for
you
. It sounds to me as if you’re plotting all this for him again, to paint a picture for him!”

I stopped in my tracks; stared at her. Then I sat down slowly, the wrought-iron seat cold beneath me. “Well, yes I am. Of course I am.” She was right.

“Make sure it’s what
you
want,” she insisted, sitting down beside me. I stared at her even harder. Blinked.

“But I don’t know what I want. I’ve been pleasing him for so long, Angie, I don’t know what I want any more. You’re right. He’s right. I’m just a frigging please machine. Press my buttons and I’ll please you. I don’t want a job or new clothes, I just want my husband back. Is that totally sad, as Claudia would say?”

“No, it’s totally understandable,” she said slowly. “All I’m saying is…enjoy the process. Enjoy the means to the end. Because, believe it or not, if you approach it that way, you may enjoy the means, even more than the end.”

I thought about this. “Unlikely, but I take your point. I also agree that it’s got to be more fun than sitting around waiting for him.”

“Of course it has!” she squeaked. “That’s the spirit!”

I blinked at her. “It is?”

“Of course! Fun!” She raised her glass. “You, Olivia McFarllen, are about to have some fun!”

I looked at her excited face. A slow smile spread across mine. “OK,” I said raising my glass too. “Here’s to fun then.”

She crashed her gin enthusiastically into mine, spilling both. “Attagirl!”

T
he following morning, I rang Imogen. “D’you know any nice men?” I demanded.

She paused, taken aback. “What sort of men?”

“Attractive, sexy, single men, of course. Come on, Imo, you must know loads!”

I felt her switch the phone to her other ear, give a little cough and shuffle her chair around. Perhaps the gallery was busy. “What d’you want one for?” she muttered.

“I want to make Johnny as jealous as hell, of course. What d’you think!”

“Ah, right. That old chestnut. I wondered when you’d come round to that way of thinking. Hang on, I’ll get my address book.” She broke off for a second. “Right, now, let’s see…” I heard her flipping through the pages. “Well, there’s Giles, of course, who would have been perfect…”

“Yes?”

“But sadly he’s come out. Such a waste.”

“Oh.”

“So then there’s James, who’s gorgeous, but then he’s rather gone the way of the Brompton Oratory brigade, bit pious now, so…” more page flipping, “Ah – hang on, Rollo! Yes, now Rollo’s lovely. He’d be very suitable. Works for the foreign office, frightfully rich, terribly intelligent, just split up with his girlfriend – he ditched her – fabulous flat in South Kensington – ”

“Sold,” I purred. “Perfect, Imo. He sounds totally perfect. Invite me to dinner tomorrow. Then I’ll invite him back here this weekend.”

“Tomorrow! God, you must be kidding. For a start he’s in Russia at the moment, and for another thing I couldn’t possibly suggest anything for his diary without a couple of weeks’ notice.”

“A couple of weeks!” I shrieked. “God, that’s no good. I need him on Sunday!”

“Sunday. Gosh no, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’d be able to deliver the goods by then, Liwy,” she said doubtfully. “There’s Simon Franklin, I suppose – he likes to do things fairly impulsively – but even he gets pretty booked up, although he might have a space for dinner in July – ”

“Never mind, never mind,” I said quickly. “Forget it, Imo. Thanks anyway.”

“Sorry, but, listen, I’ll tell you what. I was going to take the parents to that big concert they’re doing in the Abbey next week on the fifteenth. Dad really wants to go and Rollo’s a real music buff. Why don’t I fix that up anyway? You could come with us? It’s something to have in reserve if nothing else.”

“What big concert?” I said dully.

“You
know
. God, it’s on your doorstep, for heaven’s sake. Faulkner’s new orchestral piece. It’s going to be absolutely packed.”

“Is it? Oh, OK, fix it up as a stopgap, but meanwhile I need some more immediate crumpet. Speak to you soon, Imo.”

I put the phone down. Clearly Imogen’s friends were so rarefied and sought after there’d be no getting into their Filo-faxes, or indeed anything else, this millennium, and that was no good; I needed results and I needed them now. By Sunday actually, three days’ time. I gritted my teeth. Malcolm. It would have to be Malcolm. Oh God, could I really bring myself to? Yes. Yes, I could. This was an emergency, and needs must. Before I could change my mind I hurried to the back door, slipped on my old gardening boots, which were all I could find, and hastened round to Nanette’s for his number.

Was he really so unattractive? I tried to remember as I scurried across the cobbles. No, quite good-looking actually, average height and with rather a lot of dark hair, I seemed to recall – hopefully it wasn’t a toupee – no sign of a paunch, reasonable teeth – yes, he’d do fine. I’d have to light him properly, I reflected as I hurried along – subtly, you know, in a dark corner of the sitting room. Thank God for dimmer switches, candles even – and if his clothes were too appalling I’d lend him something of Johnny’s. Yes, brilliant. Johnny’s old dressing gown or something – that would really set the cat amongst the pigeons, and he could be naked underneath. Suddenly I felt sick. The thought of Malcolm naked apart from a toupee made me stop, clutch a lamppost. I hung on to it for a moment and breathed deeply, tried not to think about it. When I’d recovered, I went on up Nanette’s steps, and rang her bell.

Nanette answered the door with Roger, beaming away behind her, clasping her from behind, as it were, both in matching kimonos and both looking very post-coital. Ah, so he was back. She was nearly sick with excitement when I told her my mission.

“Oooh, I just
knew
you two would hit it off! Didn’t I say so, Rog? I’m
so
glad you liked him, Olivia! He’s such a poppet, dear old Male, and a great mucker of yours too, isn’t he, darling? Hey, perhaps we could all go out as a foursome sometime!”

The very vocabulary set my teeth on edge, but I nodded gamely. “Great!”

“The old dog!” hooted Roger. “Getting his feet under your table in double-quick time, eh? Blimey, Malcolm and his trouser snake pop up in the most unlikely places, although I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the class for you, Olivia!”

“Oh, heavens, I thought he was totally charming.”

“And now you can’t wait to get your hands on him, eh? Ha! Terrific! Well, I must say, I thought it was more the form for the boy to ring the girl, but then I don’t know many emancipatéd women, do I, Pumpkin?” He nuzzled Nanette’s ear. “Lucky dog!”

“To be honest, Roger, I’m not that emancipatéd myself, but this is a bit of an emergency,” I said grimly. “Thanks, Nanette.” I took the piece of paper she’d scribbled the number on, hurried down the steps, and back home to my telephone, fingers itching to dial. Time was of the essence.

Malcolm seemed delighted, if astonished, to hear from me. I could almost hear him loosen his tie, lean back in his chair and work up a bit of a sweat from the plate-glass office of his Luton car showroom.

“Sunday? Er, yes, sure. Shall I book a table somewhere? What sort of time – eight thirty-ish?”

“Eleven o’clock in the morning,” I said firmly. Johnny would be arriving at eleven thirty to take Claudia out.

“Oh! Right. At your place?”

“That’s it.”

“And then lunch?”

“Er, no. No, I’ve got to go out to lunch, I’m afraid.” God, I couldn’t cope with him for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

“Ah. Right. So – what time are you going out?”

“Oh, about twelve. Thirty,” I added charitably. Didn’t want to seem mean.

“So…you want me to pop round for about an hour and a half. On Sunday morning. Is that it?”

“That’s it,” I agreed brightly.

“OK…fine. And then we’ll take it from there, shall we?”

“Yes, why not?” I agreed blithely. “Oh, and, Malcolm, um – what will you be wearing?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, just so I have an idea myself. Casual? Smart?”